


R.E.S.P.E.C.T

by Stateless



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, gapfiller of sorts, seasons 1&2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 16:30:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13485408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stateless/pseuds/Stateless
Summary: People often come into your life uninvited. Most don’t leave a trace. Some leave an indelible mark.***Introspective fic and gap-filler of sorts stemming from my constant fascination with Brian and Jennifer’s interactions over the course of the show, in that case from 108 to 205. Warning for the (non-too graphic, but still) reference to Prom-related traumatic events.Title obviously borrowed from Ms. Aretha’s anthem (though the fic has nothing to do with the amazing lyrics of the song).





	1. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the last, heartbreaking scene in 201.

There weren’t many people Brian truly, sincerely respected. And even less people he’d respected from the get-go, especially when it came to adults or authority figures.

Some people he’d ended up grudgingly regarding more favorably than others after a while, after they’d earned it through deed or after their uncompromising attitude or steadfastness had dented his previous criticizing opinion of them.

But mostly, he found the general populace frankly pitiful and he looked down on their petty compromises, their miserable arrangements with their consciences, their willingness to bow down to whatever was socially or morally _acceptable_ to other equally pitiful people around them. For what? To be _included_? That was a crappy way to lead one’s life, and Brian refused to play the game. The only concession to the rule was his workplace, where he accepted to don a polite, professional mask, but with his hard work and talent, even there he managed to get major leeway.

There were only a handful of people who had grabbed his respect from the first encounter.

The first had been Debbie. As a closed-off, taciturn but still impressionable 14-years-old, he’d been swept away by her no-holds-barred, almost brutal shows of affection and the easy and weird ways in which she’d immediately accepted him in her family. She’d known he was gay the second she had seen him and had laughed uproariously at his discomfited, challenging confirmation. _“Good for you, Hon’ “,_ she’d said as she’d stuffed him full with pasta and garlic bread, and that had been it _._ It was such a shock from his usual cold environment, he had instantly been fascinated by and drawn to her, and she’d welcomed him back times and times again, either with a hug or with a cuff on the head, depending on whatever stunt he’d pulled Michael into, but always with open arms. She was one of the very few adults at that time, and people _period_ , who could talk to him and he would listen.

The second one was Vic. He had been enthralled by the man, who was so openly at ease with who he was, what he was, who had an enviable career as a chef, who’d gone to fucking New York and made a place for himself there. The few times he would visit Pittsburgh when Michael and Brian were teenagers, he would regal them with tales of the city, of the gay scene there, of his appealing life as an out and proud gay man in the metropolis, and it had fueled Brian’s yearning for a similar future and for the city.

And when’d he come back definitely, his beautiful body gaunt and ravaged by the deadly virus, Brian had been awed and yes, humbled by the fierceness of his fight, his humor in the face of death and his refusal to give in. They didn’t talk that much one-on-one anymore, but Brian was relieved his health was coming around and he knew Vic DeGrassi would always remain a childhood hero and an inspiration.

The third one had been his English and American Literature professor his freshman year at Carnegie Mellon.  When the man had entered the packed auditorium, a hush had passed and silenced the crowd. The way he’d looked at the students in silence, meeting every eye straight on, had been close to a spiritual experience. He’d weighed every person in the room, he’d appraised them, and when he’d met Brian’s gaze, Brian had felt a desperate urge to raise to the bar and meet the challenge. Each and every class after that initial contact had been an exercise in determination to be up to par for Brian, but also a practical training in charisma. Most of the tricks he’d developed over time to capture an audience, Brian had derived from Professor Montiel. How he used his silences, the pauses he’d yielded as a weapon to command attention, his slow, clear elocution, his perfect use of quotes, his wry humor, his elegant vocabulary, down to his confident but relaxed posture. Most of the student body had developed a crush on the professor, even Lindsay. She couldn’t stop gushing about the man whenever they worked on an assignment together. But not Brian. He didn’t want the man, he wanted to _be_ the man. He used him as an object of study, as an inspiration. To have the same aura, to have people eating in the palm of his hand and drinking his words like Gospel. To be able to use his mind, his intelligence, his sophistication to carve his way into the world just as he used his body to blaze his path into the backrooms.

He’d worked his ass off, he’d stayed up late, reading and researching, absorbing every word, every class, from Shakespeare to the lecture on Jim Morrison’s revolutionary contribution to American poetry. And he’d written, hands cramping, eyes itching under his low desk lamp, back bent and tired after his thankless but lucrative late shift at the campus library to weigh every sentence, every word on his assignments. And to that day he still remembered Professor Montiel’s words (‘ _Don’t try to impress **me** , Mr Kinney. Impress yourself’) _and the feeling of pride he’d had when he’d passed the class with straight As. He didn’t give a shit that his parents didn’t care or even noticed. He’d achieved something. He’d gained the respect of someone whose opinion did matter.

And finally, the latest, and most surprising one had been Jennifer. When she’d quite literally barged into his office, giving him no choice but to listen and take responsibility with Justin, she had knocked him off his feet. And it wasn’t only because she hadn’t gobbled up his refusal or his shitty excuse. It was mainly because in this short moment, she had shown that she was ready to do anything, up to accepting her teenage son living with an older lover she didn’t know as long as it kept him safe and happy, whatever the opinion of others - her own husband included. _That_ was motherly love, if Brian’s admittedly fucked-up worldview in that regard could allow him to judge, but he respected that. It was why he’d escorted Justin back home that time, because he felt the boy had an ally at least, someone who would stay unconditionally at his back.

And his respect for her had only grown when she had left Justin’s asshole of a father. He had been a bit impressed. Craig was not the kind of man who would accept opposition lightly, and he wondered what had gone down between them after he’d left with Justin in tow. Considering her dark look at her husband when Brian had risen to leave, she must have torn him a new one. In any case, she hadn’t swayed or found excuses like so many others, like his own fucking _genitor_ had.  She hadn’t compromised, she hadn’t chosen her own selfish comfort over her son’s safety, she hadn’t bent to her social environment for appearances’ sake. She’d fought for her son, and though Brian knew too well the scar of his father’s rejection would stay etched on Justin’s heart for the rest of his life, he also took comfort in the fact that the blond had his other parent’s love and support.

He’d been resolute from that moment that he would never stand between that mother and her child.

Which is why on that horrible, hellish nightmare of a night, when she’d come rushing into the ER, distraught, eyes haunted, so different from the poised, assured woman he’d come to know, when she had spotted him and asked him, her voice shrill, _what happened, what the hell has just happened_ , it had shattered the last sane part of his broken spirit.

When she had shaken him, when she’d started beating his chest up, demanding answers, he had taken it. He hadn’t moved, he hadn’t raised his hand to try to stop her, he had just taken what he deserved. And when she had finally collapsed against him, sobs and wails of anguish wrecking her thin body, he’d let her, too. He’d wished he was able to hold her, to offer support, comfort, but he hadn’t been capable of the smallest gesture. It wasn’t his place. His mind, his body, his heart had stopped the instant he had kneeled near Justin’s immobile body and he’d seen the blood marring his beautiful face, running in grotesque crimson rivulets over his golden hair and his pale ( _wan, ghostly)_ skin. The image had been etched in his mind as he’d let Jennifer pound and cry her horror, her broken heart against him and his only conscious thought had been _Thank God she didn’t see her child like that, like a soiled, broken doll._

It might have been hours before the nurse had gently prided her away from Brian’s immobile, helpless body and ushered her to the doctor’s room, but when she had parted, the tortured, wounded look she had sent him had finally pushed him to move. He couldn’t leave, an animal, primal instinct forbade him to, but he couldn’t stay there either, not when the sight of him would only add to her anguish and rub like salt in raw flesh. So he had made his way further down the corridor, past a corner, out of her eyes and her natural, deserved place near her son. And when he’d finally reached a bench he had let himself collapse, physically and mentally, he’d allowed his body to let go and cry.

That’s where Michael had found him. Where he had spent the longest, hardest three days of his life. He had only allowed Michael to guide him to the bathroom once in a while, and to put a cup of something hot in his hands at other times. But he had stopped Michael’s hands when he had tried to clean his face.

He had seen Jennifer from the corner of his eyes, once, standing far down the hallway, her arms tight around her frail silhouette. He had felt her eyes on him, and he had prayed she wouldn’t ask him to leave because he wouldn’t have been able to grant her request, to consent, he would have had to go against her and he couldn’t stomach that, either. Thankfully she had turned around wordlessly and she had let him stay in that purgatory, no, that hell of uncertainty, his eyes focused on the wall as if he would see anything if he tried hard enough, or hear Justin’s heart beating, hear his life rhythm if he strained his ears long enough. Until finally, a nurse had come and told him that Justin was alive, in a chemicals-induced coma but alive, and he had let Michael drag him away.

It was out of respect for her he hadn’t gone back to the hospital during the days, during the times he knew she would be there. Out of cowardice, too. Toward himself, toward Justin, and toward her. He couldn’t put himself in a position where he would have to meet her eyes, to see the judgment and condemnation there. He saw it already in everyone else’s eyes and most of all in his own whenever he had to meet his own distraught face in a mirror. He couldn’t explain or justify his actions to her any more than he could to his own reflection. He didn’t care about the rest of them, he even gave them even more reasons to despise him for his behavior. As for Debbie, whose opinion he guessed all too well, he avoided her, pure and simple. Nobody needed to know the depths of his self-loathing, his self-hatred, his guilt, his shame.

Nor did they have to know about his pathetic need to go to the hospital every night to make sure the beautiful, perfect, innocent boy he’d sullied with his reckless selfishness was still breathing. Let them all think he was a self-centered asshole, because he was, the proof of which he saw anytime Justin trashed in his sleep, his face wrecked and pale as he laid on the hospital bed.

When the nurse had told him one night that Justin would be released the next day, something had broken anew in him, and he had been unable to leave the corridor and the window in the wall until dawn had broken and he’d seen the first signs of Justin’s imminent awakening. He had thought he wouldn’t see him again, not if he could prevent it, and he had engraved his face in his mind until the very last second.

Because fate was cruel, of course Justin had found him, and how could he resist? That night, Brian had hated himself anew for his inability to stay strong in the face of the memories, for accepting Justin’s comfort when it should have been the other way around. But when Justin had pulled him delicately, almost shyly in his arms, against his ( _delicate, soft, thin, strong_ ) body and given him absolution, for a minute Brian had almost allowed himself to accept it and believe he was worth of it.

It hadn’t lasted long. He’d seen Jennifer’s eyes when he stopped in front of her house after he’d brought him back, and he had known that he couldn’t allow himself to be complacent and feel anything but guilt.

Selfish moron that he was, he had gone back anyways, because Justin had wanted him to and he had been too weak to decline the boy’s wishes.

But it couldn’t last long. When Jennifer had arrived and stepped out of her car, Brian had known it was the end. Her eyes said it all. The way she saluted Daphne and Justin and dismissed them only confirmed it. He let her talk. What other choice did he have? What could he offer her but his silence? Her voice was so calm, so soft, but her words…they cut through him like razors.

She’d known about the visits, of course she had, why did he feel surprised? But she had let him, she could have barred him access with a word and she hadn’t. He couldn’t understand why, but he felt grateful, and his regard for her only grew.

He knew what she was about to say before she uttered the words. He had known as soon as she had asked to talk to him. He’d seen it in her features as she had stopped on the steps and he had felt compelled to stand up, not like a defendant before his judge but because he respected her, her courage, her guts to demand whatever she felt her son needed.

She was polite to a fault when she asked him to leave, almost gentle when she requested him to never see Justin again. She had no way of knowing what it took, what it meant for Brian to admit out loud that he cared for Justin, how could she? And he knew the instant the words left his lips that it was a mistake, a pathetic attempt to beg for her mercy, and that she couldn’t, wouldn’t give it.

“it was because of you he was almost killed.”

Her words were a whip slashing through Brian, ice-cold, unforgiving, as were her eyes and her entire posture. They froze him and burned him to ashes, but he knew them to be true.

He couldn’t make himself look at her after that. He didn’t deserve her apology, nor the trembling in her voice as she tried to explain herself. He knew the reason, she didn’t need to stoop to justifying her sentence. When she asked that he return her son to her, he allowed what was left of his heart to break. He almost attempted to formulate his jumbled thoughts out loud, but a look at her pleading face snuffed the words out. He simply passed the exercise ball to her as a symbol of his deference to her command, as she deserved. And he bowed down to her demand, because she’d not only had his respect the instant he had met her, but she’d also earned it since, and he wouldn’t defile that.

Then he made his way back to his car as an automat, and he drove away, far from the quaint neighborhood, far from the boy – _man_ he’d allowed inside his heart, and far from a woman whose esteem he would have to tried to gain, but never would be allowed to.


	2. Jennifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the scene in 205 where Justin and Jennifer come back from their shopping spree, and delves into Jennifer’s reflection on her relationship with Brian.

As she made her hurried way to her car after leaving Justin at Brian’s, Jennifer couldn’t help the skip in her steps. They’d had a fabulous time. She couldn’t believe how happy, how open Justin had been all afternoon. It had been a long time since they had talked that much, since their bond had felt so strong and warm.

It had been loosened by the events they had been through in the past year. The attack and its aftermath had taken its toll, obviously, but even before that, everything had concurred for them to fall apart. His coming out, and the way she had handled it so poorly. Craig’s odious rejection. The divorce.

One day, she would have to make sure Justin knew that far from ruining her marriage and life, Justin had in fact saved her from boredom and a mediocre existence of passiveness and compromise.  He had opened her eyes to who Craig really was. She had known he was straight-up conservative, with backwards ideas on many subjects, but she’d never imagined he would turn to be such a hateful bigot.

_No, that’s not true. **You knew**. _

She’d known the kinds of words he used privately to talk about Mr and Ms Trang down the street, or about Daphne’s parents. About ‘ _the zoo’_ on Liberty Avenue, as he said spitefully. But she’d given him a pass, because it was comfortable. It didn’t concern her directly. She could pretend he didn’t mean the words. _Until it was about Justin, his own fucking blood, you could pretend_. When he ranted about Brian being too old, being a predator, she could pretend it was only about that. After all, she was worried too. But after the car incident? After his demented attack on Brian? After that set of rules, when he’d shown he would prefer having no son than a gay one?

_You couldn’t pretend anymore, could you?_

That was why she hadn’t objected to Justin leaving with Brian then. At least, with him, he wouldn’t have to hate himself for who he was, and he was far from his father’s hateful glares. She had tried, oh how she’d tried to open Craig’s eyes, to make him _see_ and revise his heinous views, to accept Justin for the beautiful man he was becoming. But she had failed, and she had left. She couldn’t bear to stay in his narrow world. They didn’t have anything in common anymore, if they ever had any. In any case, she couldn’t submit Molly to her father’s permanent bitterness and hatefulness.

Of course, she would have wanted Justin to come live with them, but she knew something had broken in their relationship, something that needed time and patience to repair. She, in turn, had needed to prove herself, to show Justin she was a reliable ally before they could return to their previous trusting relationship as mother and son, and she had put effort in that objective.

She didn’t know exactly what had happened between them that Justin had suddenly stopped living with Brian, but she was relieved when Debbie welcomed him in with open arms. She had become fond of the loud, over-affectionate, fierce woman, and she couldn’t resent the place Justin had given her beside him. She had had a more complicated, to say the least, relationship with Brian after that, though.

She had _hated_ him after the Prom. She knew, even then, she had been aware her hate was misguided, irrational, unfair. The rational part of her brain told her that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but that little cunt Hobbes’. But she’d been so angry at everyone, at the world, for letting her beautiful boy, her innocent, perfect child down, that she had lashed out. She had been enraged, blinded by pain and grief, and he had been there, the perfect target for her wrath.

The worst was, she had known Brian felt the same. The broken man she had met at the hospital wasn’t the confident Lothario she had seen whisk her son away with his perfect smile and sex-appeal a few months before. Nor was the crumbling man who’d taken her brutal, violent words without protesting, who had respected her wish and obeyed her command to stay away.

_That_ man had been irredeemably shattered. Just as much as her son had been, without the physical scars to show for it. She should have known, then, that separating them had to be the worst thing to do. To the both of them. They needed each other, she had soon come to realize. But at that point she had _yearned_ to have Justin for herself, viscerally, to take care of him, to protect him and cocoon him in her love. But that wasn’t the kind of love he needed. 

And Brian. When the nurse had told her that he was there every night, holding vigil until dawn, she’d almost asked he’d be barred access to her son. But the nurse had described his slumped figure, his tired face, his refusal to move, and Jennifer hadn’t found it in herself to take that away from him.

Even after she had finally gone over her irrational anger, and her pride, and she had asked him to help Justin, she hadn’t fully realized the depth of her action. She hadn’t realized then they would both be saved by being reunited. At the time, she had been willing to incur his deserved wrath and disdain at the favor she was asking. Except she had come to realize it wasn’t a favor she was asking of him, but one she was doing him, as well as Justin.

She saw how Justin’s morale improved almost overnight. It took less than ten days before she was able to hug him again, when she had been so frightened she would never be allowed to anymore. His beautiful smile was coming back, tentatively at first, but wider every time.

It finally occurred to her at one point that she respected Brian. When she had asked him to bring her son back among the living, she had had no choice but to rely on him, because he was the only person _Justin_ could open up to and she had to follow his lead.

But witnessing the delicate way Brian would touch him, the hidden concern in his eyes every time Justin’s hand trembled, how he reached out to him unconsciously anytime they shared the same space… that spoke of something deeper, more significant than any words.

She saw them together. The secret smiles they had for one another when no one was watching. The way their body language aligned in a symbiotic dance, subtle but so reveling to anyone who noticed. Their light teasing that spoke of a deep complicity, of a bond of their own.

Brian had only ever shown respect towards her, even when she had been less than courteous, but now she could guess what Justin saw in him, behind the gorgeous face and appealing silhouette. She could identify the tenderness, the love in his gaze when it shifted to her son. She could see the caring heart under the façade in the small gestures. She could hear the unspoken encouragement and support for Justin to keep on chasing his dream in the light massages he gave Justin’s palm when it cramped, or when he bought the computer. She guessed and shared his anger when Justin told her about his encounter with Hobbes at the hospice and about Brian’s reaction, and she understood why he wanted so much for Justin to attend, and enjoy, Pride.

And one day, during one of their calls, between his latest update about Justin’s physical therapy and her reminder that Molly still had the CD he’d loaned her the last time they’d visited, she felt something that took her aback. Fondness. They had been allies, a team of sorts in Justin’s healing process, but that feeling was more than gratitude for what he had done for her son and her family. It was something not quite akin to the mother-by-proxy feeling she had for Daphne, nor to the sense of kinship, of comradery she had with Debbie. It was friendship, of a sort, the kind you share with someone who’s been in the trenches with you and helped you make it out alive.

 It was trust. 


End file.
